I Do Not Cuddle, Dammit!
by Shattered Mirror01
Summary: McCoy wanders into Chekov's room after a long day looking for comfort... and sex. Chekov, however, has other ideas. McCoy/Chekov, rated M for language and sexual content.


**When I started writing this story, my intention was for it to be a purely sweet, fluffy sort of moment. But it was too short… and kind of boring… so somehow it ended up like this-three times as long with **_**much **_**more sexual content then I ever intended, but at least now it's semi-interesting. It's very… well, it's not my usual style, but I'm proud of myself for branching out. Again, I'm labeling this 'M' for language and sexual content. **

**Dedicated to BlackRoseThorne (thank you so much for being my beta!), Sasha, and Shawna, for putting up with me and my Star Trek fan-gasms. I love you guys! **

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McCoy was exhausted- that much was obvious by his half-lidded eyes, stooped posture and dragging feet. Chekov wasn't entirely sure how the doctor had made it all the way down from sick bay to the crew quarters without collapsing. McCoy didn't even say a word as he entered Chekov's room- he simply walked over and put his head on the shorter man's shoulder.

"Long day?" Chekov asked quietly.

McCoy gave a soft moan. "Of _all_ the damn ships in this fleet, I get assigned to the one full of hypochondriacs," he murmured. "And all that damn paperwork… it's _still _not done…"

Chekov patted McCoy gently on the head. "Don't vorry about eet now. You can finish eet tomorrow."

McCoy shook his head, burrowing his head into the fabric of Chekov's uniform. "I have another shift in six hours."

"Vat?" Chekov asked, surprised. "Zey are owevorking you!"

McCoy's hands went down to Chekov's waist to pull him close. "Can't be helped," the doctor muttered. "We're short-staffed."

Chekov wrapped his arms around McCoy's tense shoulders. "Is zere somezing I can do to help?"

McCoy moved his head away from Chekov's shoulder to plant a chaste kiss on the younger man's lips. "You _are_ helping, trust me," he breathed.

Chekov smiled and ruffled the doctor's dark hair. "Now I _know _you are exhausted. You need sleep."

The doctor nodded absently, then stepped away to yank off his shoes. He collapsed face first on the bed, not even bothering to crawl under the covers. Chekov shook his head and threw a spare blanket over him before yanking off his shirt and crawling beneath the sheets himself. As soon as Chekov laid down, McCoy reached out, grabbed him by the waist, and pulled the Russian close to him.

Chekov turned his head to face the doctor. "Since ven do you like to cuddle?" he teased. McCoy shifted slightly so he could glare at the blonde.

"I do _not _cuddle, dammit!" he growled softly. "Space is _cold_, and you're _warm_," he explained grumpily.

"Vatewer you say, Leonard."

McCoy responded to Chekov's sarcasm by biting his neck, eliciting a sharp gasp from the younger man.

"Zat vas uncalled for!" Chekov said indignantly.

"But you liked it," McCoy pointed out, smoothly swinging his leg over to straddle the Russian's hips. He leaned down to bite Chekov's neck again, nipping and sucking at the soft flesh he found there, all the while running his hands over Chekov's bare chest. Chekov tensed in surprise and let out a quiet moan, but when McCoy's hands strayed down to the waistband of his pants, he sat up so suddenly that McCoy was nearly thrown onto the floor.

"_Nyet," _Chekov said breathlessly. "No sex tonight. You need _sleep._"

McCoy leaned in close to put his lips to Chekov's ear. "But now I'm too _excited_ to sleep," he whispered, brushing his fingers over the inside of Chekov's thigh. The smaller man shuddered but held his ground, frowning at the doctor.

"You have two hands," Chekov suggested. "Go to ze bathroom and use zem."

"Hmph," McCoy grunted, frowning down at the younger man. "You're as cold as a Russian winter."

Chekov grinned wickedly, stood, and then grabbed McCoy by the collar to pull him to his feet. Chekov pressed his lips to McCoy's, his tongue greedily exploring the doctor's mouth, hot and wet and _perfect_. Despite being smaller, Chekov pushed McCoy backward, shoving the Southern doctor into the wall, while their tongues continued to dance the tango.

Chekov broke away to look into McCoy's eyes, now beginning to cloud over with lust. "Cold as Russian vinter I may be," Chekov said, panting, "but I can _burn_ just like vodka."

And with those words, he reached over to press the opening mechanism for the door. McCoy fell backwards and landed on his ass in the middle of the hallway, his face flushed and his clothes disheveled. His mouth, slightly bruised, was open as he stared up at Chekov, who just smiled innocently.

"Спокойной ночи, Leonard!" Chekov said cheerfully, shutting the door. McCoy simply sat there, staring, absolutely stunned. A moment later, the door opened again, and McCoy's shoes were tossed out into the hallway, narrowly avoiding his head. The doctor sat there for a long moment before he finally stood up. He couldn't believe Chekov had done this to him- but then again, he reminded himself, Chekov had explicitly said _no sex._ And speaking of sex… McCoy looked down and groaned at the sight of a large bulge in his pants. Fuck. He couldn't walk back to his quarters with _that. _

McCoy was desperately trying to remember where the bathroom was when Captain James T. Kirk sauntered down the hallway, apparently halfway through one of his nighttime strolls about the ship. He stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted the doctor, and when he took in McCoy's appearance, he quickly stifled a laugh.

"Having… _difficulties_?" Jim asked, trying his hardest not to laugh at his best friend. McCoy growled dangerously at Jim. Jim either didn't register the warning or he just didn't care.

"Did Chekov kick you out?" Jim asked bluntly, eyeing the door. McCoy nodded gruffly. Jim's eyes fell upon the shoes in McCoy's hands, and even though Jim knew it might get him killed, he just _had_ to say it.

"I didn't know you had a shoe fetish, Bones."

McCoy chucked his shoes at Jim's head.


End file.
